


Don't Knock a Knife to the Face

by Addleton



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Georgia is SUCH an asshole, Halloween, Humor, Knock-Knock Jokes, Utah is cluelessly sweet, Zombies, poor airsick South
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:32:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8421943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addleton/pseuds/Addleton
Summary: It's Halloween, and six Freelancers are telling scary stories en route to a mission.Of course there are consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to Florida.

“Does anyone have a scary story that _isn’t_ creepypasta?” Washington groaned from where he sat strapped into his seat as the Pelican jostled with turbulence. “That stuff was old 200 years ago.”

“The rookie clearly doesn’t appreciate the classics,” Georgia said dismissively.

South elbowed her green neighbor. “These are supposed to be scary stories. Not weirdass... whatever that last one was.”

“Do they _have_ to be scary-scary?” asked Utah, leaning away to avoid being accidentally elbowed by Georgia. “I mean, I thought we were telling them to, you know, relax a little before the mission?”

“Come now, Utah. It’s Samhain!” Wyoming skillfully balanced his now-empty teacup and saucer on his knee. “It can’t hurt to keep with the spirit of things.”

“And a festive spirit is best bolstered by festivities!” explained Florida from where he sat between Wyoming and Washington. “There is another fascinating zombie—”

“No,” chorused everyone in the Pelican, sans Wyoming.

“Perhaps later,” the sniper said, clapping a companionable hand on Florida’s shoulder.

“You’ll have to save it for later because we’re approaching the drop point,” shouted Niner from the cockpit. “Hold onto your lunches, kiddos. Things are about to get a little thrashy.”

“Jolly good,” said Wyoming, stashing his tea set safely in the compartment above his head, turbulence be damned, and pointedly ignoring Washington’s muttered “Finally.”

Florida patted the rookie’s arm as the Pelican slowed to a hover. “Now, Washington, I understand that this is your first mission since being bumped up to the Alpha team, and that you are under a lot of pressure to show yourself as worthy of the promotion. I just want you to know that there is no shame in asking for help should things turn out to be more intense than you can handle.”

“I can handle myself on a mission!” Washington squeaked, indignant.

“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Florida said placatingly, “only to remind you that we are on the same team, and that if you need backup, you need only request it.”

“I’ll, uh, try to remember that.”

“Please do. There is nothing more important to me than the safety and well-being of my team, and it would be a terrible shame if someone were to die on this mission.”

“And that isn’t ominous _at all_ ,” Washington muttered, his hands gripping his harness tightly as the Pelican slowed its turbulent descent.

Florida gave the young soldier a pat on the shoulder before the back of the ship opened and the mission began.

* * *

 “Georgia, where the _hell_ are you?!” Washington screeched over the radio. “I need backup! Now!”

“Keep your pants on, Rookie. Utah and I are headed your way. You can handle a few Innies until then.”

“There’s more than a _few!_ I think they’ve made our extraction point.”

“How unlucky for you. Luckily for me, _I_ have my lucky penny.”

“Try to hang in there, Wash? I’m almost at your position.”

“Well hurry it up! They’ve got—” Washington cut off mid-sentence with an ominous thunk.

“Wash? Oh. Oh shit.”

Georgia cursed. “I swear, Rookie, if you’re dead, you are _so dead_.”

“Um, Georgia, it’s not looking too good. Wash took a _really big_ knife through his visor, and he isn’t moving.”

Georgia cursed again and switched radio frequencies. “You’d better have that intel and be making your way back because the rookie is down and the Innies have made our extraction point.”

“Is Wash okay?” asked South.

“Well he took a knife to the face and hasn’t moved since, so what do you think?”

Florida drowned out South’s curses as he reported, “I have the intel and we are on our way. Should we fall back to the secondary extraction point?”

“No. Utah and I have everything under control here.”

“Agent Washington would likely disagree,” sniped Wyoming.

Georgia ignored the old man. “ETA?”

“Two minutes.”

“Make it one. I see Niner approaching.”

“ _Great_ ,” grumbled South. “We wouldn’t have to rush back if you could’ve just held the extraction point like you were supposed to.”

“We _are_ holding the extraction point.”

“After getting Wash _killed_.”

“You know what? I don’t have to listen to this. Just get your asses over here ASAP. You know how much Niner hates waiting.” Georgia switched back to his private channel with Utah. “How are you doing over there?”

“I’ve cleared out all the Innies on my end. What about you?”

“Just a few more left. The others should be here in a minute.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll just... get Wash onto the Pelican.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

“It’s just...”

“Just what?”

“You were supposed to be closer, but I got to him first.”

Georgia flushed. “I ran into some delays, okay.”

“Okay. Okay.” Utah sounded more like he was convincing himself than believing in Georgia. “It’s just... he seemed like a nice kid and I’m going to miss him.”

Georgia’s next shot was a touch wide as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “You barely even _knew_ him, Utah!”

“Yeah, but I wanted to _get_ to know him, and now I’ll never have the chance.”

Georgia facepalmed. “Just get the rookie on the Pelican already.”

“Already done, though should I strap him in? It seems kinda... callous to just leave him lying on the floor.”

“No time. Here come the others.”

* * *

 They’ve been in the air for roughly ten awkward minutes, everyone carefully not staring at the body on the floor.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t strap him in?” Utah stage whispered to Georgia.

“It’s not like _he_ cares either way.”

South viciously elbowed her green neighbor.

“Poor bloke. Let’s get that knife out of your face, shall we?” Wyoming slipped out of his seat and knelt next to the gray-armored body, steady despite the shaking of the ship. However, rather than grab the knife straightaway, the old soldier tapped Washington’s visor. “Knock knock?”

Agent Washington’s hands grabbed Wyoming’s wrist.

“Oh bollocks!” The older man fell over backwards from the shock, pulling the gray-armored soldier up in the process. “Who’s there?!”

“Ow,” came the groaned reply.

There was a beat of silence before Wyoming asked, “Ow who?”

“Ah ate oo.”

That was when the screaming started.

“Zombie!” shrieked Utah.

“He’s going to eat us!”

“Get to the cockpit!”

“What are you—? DO NOT TOUCH THAT! I JUST SAID—”

“We’re all gonna dieeeeeeee!!!”

The engines shuddered to a stall, and the ship began to plummet, buffeted by the strong atmospheric winds. Washington and Wyoming were sent careening around the back of the Pelican as South and Washington joined in on the screaming.

A moment later, the engines roared back to life and the Pelican stabilized.

“I think I’m gonna be sick…” South groaned, still clinging to her harness for dear life, as Washington and Wyoming carefully untangled themselves from each other, trying not to disturb the knife still sticking out of Washington’s visor. The two men shakily strapped themselves into their seats as the sounds of a commotion sounded from the cockpit.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO CRASH THE SHIP?!” There was a loud thunk, as of something (or someone) being tossed to the floor. “Out! Out of my cockpit!”

“But the zombie—” whined Utah.

“Is the zombie going to shoot you in the next three seconds? Because _I will if you don’t get out of my cockpit right now_.”

“But—”

“Three.”

“—the zombie—”

“Two.”

“Utah! _Come on!_ ”

“I don’t wanna lose my brains!”

“ _One_.”

The door to the cockpit slammed shut and locked as Georgia dragged Utah out.

“And stay out!” growled Niner over the comms. “Now, do we or do we not have a dead rookie?”

“We have an injured one,” answered Florida, helpful and unfazed as always.

“Life-threatening?”

Florida looked over at Washington who shrugged and tilted his head. Florida gave the young man a reassuring pat on the knee as he replied, “We’re not sure. He took an impressively large knife to the face, but otherwise appears to be right as rain.”

“Great. The medical team can handle that. I want all of you off my ship as soon as we land.”

“No argument here,” groaned South.

“So, he’s not a zombie?” Utah asked tentatively as he and Georgia strapped back in.

“Of course he isn’t! Zombies! Aren’t! Real!” Georgia replied, elbowing Utah with each word for emphasis.

Wyoming snorted. “That’s quite the change of opinion.”

Before a nasty argument could start, Florida spoke up. “This whole incident reminds me of a riveting tale one of my Jamaican—”

“No,” said everyone in the Pelican, except for Washington who thunked his head against the wall.

Florida sighed and wryly remarked, “Tough crowd, I see.”

“No,” said Utah. “We’ve just had enough of zombies.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this wonderful post](http://temptingyellowstripe.tumblr.com/post/151879861741/arancar-no-6-headcanon-that-washs-only-really) by arancar-no-6:
> 
> Headcanon that Wash’s only really prominent scarring is a jagged line down one side of his lips, courtesy of an Insurrectionist back in Freelancer trying to kill him via knife to the face. The shock left him lying there for a few minutes stunned and with a blade protruding from his visor his team thought him dead but then he suddenly sat up post-extraction and half of them started screaming and Niner nearly crashed the Pelican.


End file.
